


the color of lightning

by bloomsoftly



Series: Through the Looking Glass [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Darcy Lewis-centric, F/M, Fluff and Humor, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/pseuds/bloomsoftly
Summary: Agent Darcy Lewis is called in after the Battle of Sokovia to help identify the bodies of the deceased.Except, it turns out, one of them isn’t quite dead.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mirror fic to [Wino's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Wino/pseuds/Wino) [Life is Unfair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10762626) (which is amazing and you should read it!). 
> 
> a million thanks to [dresupi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi) – i couldn’t imagine posting a quicktaser fic without your seal of approval. ;)
> 
> It would mean a lot if you could leave a review.

Darcy received the emergency alert before dawn.

It was the first time her phone had ever blared that particularly shrill tone, and Darcy fell face-first on the floor in her haste to scramble out of bed. She got dressed in the dark, eyes too bleary with sleep to benefit from the bedside lamp’s light anyway. The phone went off with another alert, and she  scrambled to turn it off. As she swiped at it, the screen displayed over a dozen text messages and several missed calls. They were all from Jane.

_Darcy, you’re in the States right now, right?_

_Darce, please tell me the jack-booted thugs didn’t send you to an active war zone._

_DARCY._

_God damn it, Darcy. PICK UP YOUR PHONE._

The rest of the messages continued in a similar vein. Hastily, she typed out a quick text.

_I’m in DC. just got called in. will call when I can._

Then, she called her superior and reported in. Coulson didn’t have much to say, except, “Turn on the TV, Lewis.”

She did. The destruction of Sokovia broadcasted from every station. It played in slow motion from a thousand different angles. Darcy didn’t think she could bear to watch the tragedy, but wasn’t able to tear her eyes away from the devastation.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, dumbstruck. No other words would come. “Oh my god.”

Luckily, Coulson didn’t seem to expect anything more eloquent from her. “I know. Agent Lewis—”

Darcy couldn’t answer, too riveted in the horror flickering across the TV screen. With a gentler tone, Coulson prompted, “Darcy. I need you to come in. Bodies will be arriving via helicarrier in a matter of hours, and I need people I can trust to oversee the identification of the deceased.”

That pulled her attention away from the traumatizing footage. “Identification of the bodies, sir? In _DC_?”

Coulson’s sigh reverberated through the line, tinny but audible in its exhaustion. “Yes, in DC. The area wasn’t stable enough to—Darcy, we can’t take the chance of someone picking up the bodies to use for— _research_.”

The air sat heavy with the words he didn’t say. Right. _Hydra_. Darcy nodded, even though Coulson wasn’t there to see it. “Got it, Son of Coul. Just tell me where to go.”

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, primed and ready with several cups of coffee and a shirt that was _not_ inside-out (it turned out Darcy was not particularly skilled at getting dressed in the dark), She arrived at the morgue.

The entire building was eerily still. Only a handful of people were assigned to the task of identifying the bodies—Coulson didn’t lie about wanting to keep it quiet. Everyone stayed quiet in their work—either out of respect for the dead or due to the stifling silence that permeated the building. The only sound was the quiet thunk of SHIELD security as they made their rounds through the building.

Knowing that she couldn’t put off her job forever, Darcy sighed and entered her designated room. It was filled almost wall to wall with black body bags. She had to pause just inside the doorway to tilt her head back, willing away the sharp burn of tears that lingered at the back of her throat.

Darcy offered a silent plea for the dead to find peace, because they could not speak for themselves. Then, shaking off the last of her hesitation, she moved to the first bag. After confirming that the woman inside matched the identification found with her body, Darcy painstakingly wrote _Tanya Ivanovna Mirkova_ on the little card.

And so the day passed. Darcy moved from one bag to the next, verifying identities and copying their names down before moving on. Her back started to ache terribly, but she refused to rush through the task. In some strange, morbid way she felt as though she was responsible for sending them off, and she wanted to do it right.

She was about three-quarters of the way through the room when an anomaly brought her up short. Darcy had paused for a moment, stretching out her sore back and cracking her neck before moving on to the next body. Stifling a small yawn, she pulled the zipper down on the next bag only to freeze in shock.

She would recognize that face, that hair anywhere. It was Pietro Maximoff.

(read more link here)

Pietro Maximoff, whose body was most definitely not supposed to be in a random morgue in Washington, D.C. Darcy simply stared at his face for a long moment, wondering absently if her sleep-deprivation and general second-hand trauma was causing her to hallucinate. She blinked a couple of times to clear her vision, and—nope. He was definitely still there, and she was absolutely certain it was Pietro.

 _But, why? How could this happen?_   she wondered. _Was this what Coulson had been worried about? That somehow a superhero’s body would get ‘misplaced’ and end up in an easily-accessible, unsecured location?_

Darcy stalked away from the body and thought frantically—surely someone had to know that Pietro was missing. He had a twin sister, didn’t he? Poor Wanda. She must have been frantically searching for her brother’s body.

Darcy pulled out her phone to call Coulson. He didn’t answer, so she tried again. Still nothing. Frustrated, Darcy bit off a curse and left a vague but urgent voicemail. She didn’t mention Pietro by name, just in case.

Once that was done, she glanced back in his direction. “As much of a troublemaker in death as you were in life, huh?” she asked sadly. A lump lodged itself in her throat and anger simmered hot in her belly—this was not the end a hero deserved, to be left forgotten in a random morgue halfway across the world. This was personal for Darcy.

After years of working at SHIELD (it turned out that it was really difficult to get a job when you were legally forbidden from speaking about past work experience), Darcy had gotten quite close to both Clint and Natasha. She’d seen the footage; Pietro had clearly sacrificed himself to save her favorite archer’s life.

Darcy wondered if there was a way she could give Pietro the send off he’d earned. An idea struck her and she began to move toward him, only to stop when she remembered the last 17 bodies she still had left to identify and catalogue. Assuming Coulson took a while to call her back, Darcy had the time to finish her original task and then come back to Pietro.

She worked quickly but methodically to identify the remaining bodies. Within the blink of an eye, it seemed, Darcy was back at Pietro’s table. She stared down at him. His body was covered in blood and soot, and his handsome face was tough to look at—his expression still carried the faint impression of excruciating pain.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Darcy grabbed some tools and went to work. Using her SHIELD field medical training, she painstakingly removed all of the bullets from Pietro’s body. If she was quick enough, she might have him cleaned up by the time his sister came to collect his body. It was the least she could do, Darcy thought.

As she removed the last of the bullets, a low groan broke the silence of the room. Darcy panicked and jumped backwards, dropping the tool. It clattered loudly, bouncing on the metal table before landing on the tile floor. Before she could stop herself, Darcy looked at Pietro’s face and hissed, “Pietro? Was that you?”

Which was ridiculous. _Pietro was dead_ , Darcy scoffed to herself. She was hearing things because she wished he wasn’t, and her sleep-deprived brain was only playing tricks on her. Rolling her eyes at herself, Darcy took a step forward.

“W-wanda…s…sestra.” This time, Darcy saw Pietro’s mouth move as he choked out a call for his sister. _He was alive_.

His eyes opened to slits, and he groaned, “U..p-pomoć…Kér-kérem. Kérem…u p-pomoć. _P-Please_.”

The pain glimmering in Pietro’s eyes spurred her to action. Darcy screamed for help, shouting repeatedly for a doctor. With the distant sound of boots thundering down the hall in their direction, she leaned forward and grabbed his hand. “I’ve got you, ” she reassured, leaning over him. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

He squeezed her hand tightly, painfully, then released it. “Stay with me, Pietro! Stay with me,” she cried, still gripping his hand, but it was no use. He was already unconscious.

 

* * *

 

The next several hours rushed past in a blur.

Darcy watched fretfully as paramedics pumped Pietro’s heart in an attempt to keep him alive long enough to get him to surgery. She had to step away and release his hand to give them room to work. She flexed her fingers several times as she watched them work—they still tingled from the distressed way he’d held her hand. Darcy’s whole body shook from stress, flinching with every squeeze of the balloon pump.

When the paramedics strapped him to a gurney and raced to an operation room, Darcy followed. No one tried to stop her, which was good—she really didn’t want to have to pull the ‘federal agent’ card. Not that she was acting very professional at the moment, with a brain full of wool and a thousand-yard stare.

Her thoughts were strangely empty, save for one: she desperately hoped that Pietro’s last moments didn’t belong to the morgue, trapped in a body bag in the dark, crying out for his sister. Her last vision of him was an agonized grimace in a handsome face, pale and still. Then the door to the operating wing swung closed.

Darcy stared at the white walls for a long moment, then mentally kicked herself. She wasn’t a surgeon, but she could protect Pietro and his sister in other ways. She straightened up and checked her phone—still no call from Coulson—before she headed to the main desk with a purpose.

It wasn’t every day that a man returned from the dead in the hospital morgue, apparently. Which worked in Darcy’s favor, because the admissions staff turned the paperwork over to her with little fuss. She froze for a moment, staring at the first line (NAME OF PATIENT).

The nurse misunderstood and tsked lightly in sympathy. “Let me get you something to wipe your hands, dear.” Darcy frowned in confusion, then realized—her hands were shaking, and smeared with Pietro’s blood. She dropped the pen abruptly.

After wiping her hands clean and thanking the woman, Darcy wrote _Mikhail Petrovich_ on the line. Darcy was glad that she hadn’t written Pietro Maximoff’s name anywhere before starting to clean him up; Hydra would have no qualms about destroying the hospital and everyone in it. Not if it meant they could regain control of one of the twins.

Realizing she couldn’t fill out the rest of the form, Darcy alerted the nurse. “Ma’am, I’m really sorry but I can’t fill the rest of this information out. I know his name from my records, but we had so many civilians flown in from the disaster in Sokovia—”

The woman rolled her eyes. Darcy started to bite off a second, irritated apology, but the woman cut her off. “No, I’m sorry, I should have realized that. You’re SHIELD, right? It’s alright. I’m assuming you’d like to be notified about his progress?”

The lump in Darcy’s throat returned, and she nodded. The nurse grinned. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t want to be responsible for a man who looks like that, am I right?” she teased with a wink. Without waiting for a response—which was good because Darcy had no idea what to say to that—the nurse continued, “I’ll let the doctor know to keep you apprised. Hang in there, dear. Mr. Petrovich is a medical miracle.”

Darcy roused a tired half-smile and excused herself to find a place to sit. She chose an uncomfortably stiff chair that maintained a direct line of sight to the operations wing. It also put her within easy access to the coffee machine, which was a plus. Settled in for the long run, Darcy counted the passage of time by the amount of coffee she drank and the number of unanswered calls she made to Coulson.

Somewhere between coffee cups #4 and 5, Darcy received a flurry of texts from Jane. _I’m glad you’re safe, Darce._

_Wait, you ARE safe. Right??_

_I never should have let you take a job with the shadiest of shady government agencies._

Cracking her first true smile of the day, Darcy texted her back. _I’m safe, Janie. In the hospital._

Realizing how that would sound, she added, _Not for me! I’m supervising. Thank you for checking, though._

Before Jane could reply, Darcy sent one last text. _But we both know you couldn’t have stopped me from working for Coulson anyway. My brain was not made for astrophysics, and I love you too much to ruin your research._

Darcy lifted her coffee cup to her lips, only to realize that it was empty. Figuring she could stretch her legs a bit, she got up for a refill.

When Darcy sat back down, a message from Jane was waiting. _Call me when you can, okay? Take care of yourself, Darce. I love you._

Tears burned her eyes, and Darcy tilted her head back to lean it against the wall. Almost unwillingly, she thought about Pietro’s twin, Wanda. She must have thought her brother was dead, and it broke Darcy’s heart. If—no, when—Pietro made it out of this initial surgery, Darcy needed to let her know that her brother was alive. Even if he didn’t make a full recovery, Wanda deserved to know. To say goodbye, at the very least. The problem, then, would be to figure out how to get in touch with her. But that was an issue for later, once Darcy had heard from the doctor.

The last of Darcy’s adrenaline finally faded, leaving her achy and exhausted. She maintained her vigil, focusing on the doors leading to Pietro’s operating room. Everything else blurred and softened at the edges.

She wasn’t aware of how much time had passed until her view of the doors was obstructed by a pair of blue scrubs. Rubbing her eyes, Darcy raised her eyes up to the doctor’s face. The woman looked as exhausted as she felt, and a spike of fear surged in her gut.

Scrubbing a hand over her face briefly, the doctor got straight to the point. “We’ve managed to stabilize him, for now.” Darcy’s whole body sagged with relief at the news. Her head fell back, bumping against the wall hard enough to bruise. She ignored the stab of pain and instead smiled tremulously at the doctor.

But the doctor wasn’t done. “He’s still critical, and to be perfectly blunt it’s a miracle he has made it this far already. If he has any family, it might be best to get into contact with them. Just in case.”

Darcy swallowed heavily and nodded. “I will find out, thank you.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you think it would be alright if I sat with him, sometimes? You know, if he doesn’t have family, or—”

The doctor’s eyes softened slightly. “You’re the one who found him alive, aren’t you? Down in the morgue.” At Darcy’s nod, she sighed and allowed, “We usually only allow family, but I think I can make an exception considering you’re a government agent and you saved his life. Besides, it might do him some good to have someone there to talk to him.”

The doctor hesitated, then turned to look at the clock. Following her gaze, Darcy was surprised to find that it was well past 8:00 in the evening. Her stomach seized in a sharp reminder that Darcy had consumed nothing but coffee all day. “I have to move on, Agent—”

“Lewis.”

The doctor dipped her chin. “Agent Lewis. They’ll be moving Mr. Petrovich to room 313 when he’s ready, but this late in the day it might be best if you went home and came back tomorrow. In the meantime, please let me or one of the nurses know if you need any more information, alright?”

They parted ways, and Darcy headed to the nurse’s desk to liaise about security measures for Pietro. If the hospital staff were curious about the fact that she was instituting heightened safety measures for a random civilian, they didn’t let on. The nurses seemed to take her explanation easily enough.

By the time Darcy had settled everything, another hour had passed. She was halfway to her car before she realized she had yet to contact Wanda. She tried dialing Coulson again, only for the call to go straight to voicemail.

Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, Darcy abruptly remembered the number Coulson had made her memorize, something to contact the Avengers if there was an emergency. It was a long shot, to say the least.

Which is why Darcy was shocked that someone picked up.

“State your name and authorization, please.”

“Umm, my name is Darcy Lewis. I’m an agent of SHIELD and I need to speak with Wanda Maxi—”

“I have strict orders not to take calls from SHIELD, Agent Lewis.”

“No, wait—please, this is important—” She was too late. The line was already dead.

“Damn it!” Darcy was too frustrated and exhausted to do anything but order takeout and head to her apartment. She’d have to try again the next day.

 

* * *

 

A sudden realization jerked Darcy awake the next morning. Within seconds, she was sitting upright and cursing herself. “Damn it, Darcy,” she grumbled to herself, pulling on her clothing rougher than was strictly necessary. “Why didn’t you think of calling Clint?“

Stumbling into her apartment’s sparse kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee to brew. As the heavenly smell began to permeate the kitchen, she pulled out her phone and dialed Clint’s secure line.

He didn’t pick up, which wasn’t all that surprising. Luckily, she knew he checked his messages regularly.

“Hey, Clint. I know you’re dealing with the aftermath of whatever the fuck happened in Sokovia, but listen. I have information about the two strays you picked up while you were over there. I know that one was— _injured_ , but I have information that you need to know. I need you to call me ASAP. I’m not kidding, Clint. This is life or death stuff. _Call me as soon as you get this_.”

 

* * *

 

It turned out that coma patients were boring as hell.

Darcy felt guilty for even thinking it, of course, considering the fact that she hadn’t even been sure he’d survive surgery the day before (and still might not, though she quashed that train of thought ruthlessly).

Still, the fact remained—sitting with a coma patient was boring. Especially when you weren’t a family member or loved one. Remembering the doctor’s comment that hearing someone speak could help, Darcy dragged her chair closer to the bed.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. It was so _awkward_. Finally, she said the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be a debate between over whether cats or dogs made better pets. She stumbled at first, then settled into a rhythm.

Darcy spoke to Pietro until her voice went hoarse. She talked to him about everything, from her favorite movies and books to her childhood bouncing from foster home to foster home. She even told him about working for SHIELD (non-classified stories only, of course) and her experiences as one of the first Midgardians to meet and befriend Thor.

Partway through a recounting of her and Jane’s encounter with the Dark Elves in London, Darcy realized the shadows in the room had shifted to obscure most of Pietro’s face. Blinking owlishly, Darcy checked the time and found that the entire day had gone by.

“I’m gonna have to start setting alarms so that I’ll actually remember to eat meals while I’m here,” Darcy grumbled, absently patting Pietro’s hand as she stood from her chair. When she realized what she’d done, Darcy snatched it back and blushed profusely. It didn’t matter that no one was there to see her; she rushed out of the room like a bat out of hell.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro gets some visitors, and surprises everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a mirror fic to [Wino's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Wino/pseuds/Wino) [Life is Unfair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10762626) (which is amazing and you should read it!). 
> 
> another million thanks to [dresupi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi), who read this over for me.
> 
> It would mean a lot if you could leave a review!

The next day, Darcy came armed with the appropriate tools to combat boredom: she brought books.

Pietro looked better today. His skin wasn't quite so sallow, and his breath didn't rattle in his lungs on every inhale. He still looked ghostly pale against the drab white sheets of the hospital bed, though in all fairness Darcy wondered whether anyone could look healthy in a room like this. Between the bed and the clinical white walls, any and all warmth was sucked out of the room. Darcy would be tempted to liven up the room with a bouquet of flowers, but of course they weren't allowed in the ICU.

Shaking off her maudlin thoughts, Darcy dug the books out of her purse and settled into the same chair as the day before. Without preamble, she said, “Look, dude. If I tried to talk to you about myself non-stop for like eight hours every day, you’d come out of that coma hating my guts. So, I’m gonna do us both a favor and read to you today.”

She picked up the first one and grimaced a little. “Okay, let me preface this by saying I _do not_ speak Sokovian. But, I was thinking about it and I figure it might be more comforting for you to hear something in your own language. So I picked up a book of Sokovian poetry.” Chuckling awkwardly, she joked, “I mean, how hard could it be, right?”

Glancing down at the poem she’d chosen at random, Darcy admitted to herself that perhaps she had overestimated her language skills. She soldiered on anyway, stumbling and stuttering and butchering her way through the poem’s six little verses.

Darcy was bright red with embarrassment by the time she got to the final line, and sputtered, “Čuvajte malu kutiju,” as quickly as she could. The last word seemed to hang in the air, taunting her with its mispronunciation. The poem was done, though, and Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. She almost expected Pietro to do the same, or to make fun of her shoddy attempt. But when she looked up to check his expression, he remained unconscious and as unaware as always.

It was silly to have hoped for anything different; Darcy pushed aside the mild disappointment prickling in her gut. Laughing to herself, she muttered, “Well, I doubt I’ll be considered  fluent anytime soon.” Patting Pietro’s hand lightly--mindful of the IV—she leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, dude. I tried. I’m assuming that if you could speak right now you’d be begging me to stop, so.” She tossed the book aside. “How about something I _know_ I can do well?” She took the continued silence as agreement, and reached for the second book she had brought with her.

Opening it to the first page, Darcy cleared her throat and read aloud, “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.”

When she left Pietro’s hospital room that evening, she could have sworn she saw a finger twitch. Darcy paused in the doorway for a moment, but Pietro laid still.

 

* * *

 

Darcy was in the middle of describing Harry’s antics in Diagon Alley when Clint finally called her back. Dropping the book face down on Pietro’s bed in her haste, Darcy jumped to her feet and accepted the call. “Oh, thank Thor!  Finally.”

Clint’s scoff resonated through the speaker. “C’mon, kid. I just got back in the country—you know, I’ve been a _little_ busy saving the world. Again.”

Instead of her usual teasing, Darcy cut right to the chase. “I know, Clint, that’s why I’ve been calling you nonstop for days. Are you with Wanda Maximoff?”

He hesitated for a long time. Frustrated with the delay, Darcy started pacing back and forth at the foot of Pietro’s bed. At every pivot, his prone body was brought back within her line of sight—a heavy reminder.

“I’m guessing you know that I am, Darce. But if your message meant what I thought it did, I don’t think—”

“Clint!” Darcy exploded. She was so close to reuniting Pietro with his twin; she refused to give up now. Determined to scream and howl or do whatever it took—hell, she’d fly to wherever they were and drag the girl back by her pretty brown hair, if necessary—Darcy bit out sharply, “Clint. Do you trust me?”

The silence was heavy. The hot sting of frustration burned Darcy’s eyes, but then he answered, “You know I do, Darcy.”

“Prove it. Put Maximoff on the phone. I swear I won’t lead you wrong.”

Clint didn’t respond. A few seconds passed, then, “Hello?”

It was a woman’s voice, heavy with grief and exhaustion and an Eastern European accent. “Wanda, my name is Darcy. You don’t know me, but Clint does, and he trusts me. I know you’re going to have a hard time believing what I say next, but please remember that.” Darcy hesitated, not sure how to get the next words out.

“W-what are you talking about?” The girl’s voice was small and afraid, and Darcy couldn’t prolong her misery any more.

“Wanda, your brother’s body was sent to a morgue in Washington, D.C. I was sent to oversee—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone made a terrible mistake. Your brother was still alive. He _is_ still alive—I’m looking at him right now.”

Rage filled the other woman’s voice. Low and fierce, she snarled, “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you think it’s funny—”

“Oh, for Thor’s sake.” Quick as lightning, Darcy slammed the video call button and pointed her phone’s camera at Pietro. She growled, “ _Do you believe me now?_ ”

A hiccuping sob echoed through the phone. “Istenem…Pietro. Moj brat, is that you?” When Darcy turned the camera back to herself, Wanda was touching the screen gently, trying to reach her brother through the phone.

“Wanda, he needs you. He’s been in a coma for four days, and—look, how soon can you get here?” She could see the exact moment Wanda understood everything Darcy left unsaid; the young woman’s expression hardened into a mask of stubborn determination.

Wanda looked at someone off-screen—Clint, probably. “Will you—will you help me get there? Pietro needs me, and I will not let him down this time.”

“Of course I will, kid. Here, why don't you go pack and I'll sort out the details with Darcy.”

She nodded but didn't hand over the phone immediately. Turning her eyes back to the screen, Wanda spoke to Darcy one last time. “I will never be able to repay you for this.”

With a clogged throat, Darcy said, “Just get here. Pietro needs his sestra.”

With a wet chuckle, Wanda joked, “Your accent is horrendous.”

Then Clint was back. “It's really him,” was all he said. He looked almost as shaken as Wanda, which was interesting.

“It is.” Darcy paused, not sure if she was overstepping. “Clint, did something happen—?”

Clint shook his head abruptly, cutting her off. The harsh movement revealed a light sheen covering his eyes. Darcy dropped it and changed the subject.

“How soon can you get here?” Darcy asked, “Pietro’s in a coma and they still aren't sure whether—” this time, she cut herself off. Turning slightly, Darcy dropped her voice and added, “And this hospital isn't secure, Clint. I was more concerned with getting him emergency care at the time. I admitted him under a different name, but…”

“But it won't hold up if someone goes digging,” he finished for her. At her nod, he inhaled sharply and said, “Alright. I'll get Wanda ready, figure shit out with Tony, and head your way ASAP. We should be there by tomorrow afternoon. That should give Tony plenty of time to figure out how we're going to take care of the kid during the rest of his recovery.”

Unsure how any of that applied to her, Darcy replied, “Okay, sounds like a plan. I'll send you the hospital information.”

“Good. And Darce—”

She looked up from where her thumb was hovering over the ‘end call’ button. “Yeah?”

“You did good, kid. You did really good.”

For the rest of the day, Darcy sat beside Pietro. Holding his hand, she ordered, “You’ve gotta hang in there, Piet. I told Clint and your sister you were alive—please don’t make a liar out of me.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy was in the middle of gulping down her first coffee of the day when ‘Secret Agent Man’ rang out from her purse. She sputtered and dove toward it, catching the phone on its third ring.

“Finally, Phil.”

“Agent Lewis. What's going on?”

She told him everything, finishing with, “Clint and Wanda Maximoff are en route, but Pietro can't stay at that hospital indefinitely, boss man.” Sheepishly, she added, “Also, I've been neglecting my other duties to watch over him.”

Coulson offered reassurances immediately. “No, Darcy, you did the right thing. Mr. Maximoff’s well-being is your number one priority. In fact, I'm pulling you from all other duties until further notice. I'll call Clint and develop a strategy for security until it's safe for Pietro to be moved. Keep up the good work.”

There wasn't much to say after that, but the conversation still put Darcy behind on her self-imposed schedule for the day. Practically inhaling the rest of her coffee, Darcy gathered the rest of her things as quickly as possible. On her way out the door she hesitated, then snagged a brightly-colored throw blanket from the foot of her bed. She left immediately afterward, and refused to think too deeply on why she'd done it.

Pietro’s doctor showed up just as Darcy was smoothing the blanket over the foot of his bed. Smiling kindly, the woman asked, “Can I speak to you for a moment? It's about Mr. Petrovich’s recovery.”

A ball of dread formed in Darcy's stomach. “Of course, doctor.” She stepped closer to the bed and placed her fingertips on Pietro’s covered feet. The touch settled her nerves enough to ask, “Is he—?”

Catching the look on her face, the doctor reassured her, “No, no. The opposite, actually. Mr. Petrovich’s wounds are healing at an astonishing rate. One of the fastest I've ever seen.”

Darcy felt her expression smooth into a blank mask. She palmed her phone, ready to call Clint or Phil for an immediate extraction. The doctor eyed her for a long moment, then sighed. “Yes, that's what I thought. For what it's worth, I don't think anyone has recognized Mr. _Maximoff_. His sister is en route?”

“Yes, she's coming,” was all Darcy said in reply.

Hours later, Darcy was sitting in her usual chair, reading to Pietro. A streak of red and brown raced across the room, wrapping slender arms around her waist and filling her mouth with hair.

She sputtered a little, only to fall silent at the words Wanda whispered fervently in her ear. “Köszönöm. Oh, thank you. I can never repay you.”

Darcy rubbed the other woman's back in light, soothing motions. She offered, “Do you want to spend some time with him? Clint and I can go let the doctor know you're here. She'll be happy to update you on his progress.”

Wanda nodded, and moved to stand at her brother’s bedside.  As they exited the room, tears streamed freely down Wanda’s face. She had one hand outstretched toward Pietro, as if afraid to make contact and shatter the illusion. She glowed slightly pink under the fluorescent lights.

Clint looked exhausted. The bruises under his eyes shifted in the harsh lighting. Harsh purples and sickly greens mottled his face, aging him. He slouched heavily in the chair outside Pietro’s room and scrubbed a hand over his face roughly. Darcy eyed him critically. “What the hell happened to you over there, Clint?”

The archer huffed, not quite laughing, and gave her a side-eye. “That's classified, Lewis.” Darcy rolled her eyes. At least he still had his sass.

Clint shifted in his seat uncomfortably; Darcy could practically hear his bones creak. He gazed at the blank wall, unseeing. “Seriously, it was a nightmare.” Flinching, Clint came back to himself with a little shudder. He gave Darcy a wry look and said, “And you know I've seen a lot of shit.’

There was nothing to say to that; she did know it. Darcy reached over and gripped his hand lightly, squeezing once. She let the gesture speak for her. _I'm here._

Clint squeezed back, then released her fingers. He turned his head away, hiding, but it was too late. Darcy had already seen the glimmer in his eyes. To give him privacy, she shifted to look forward. She stared at Pietro’s door, thinking about the strange turn her life had taken.

“He saved my life.” Clint spoke suddenly, shattering the silence. She locked her muscles in place to keep from flinching. “Those bullets you dug out of him? They were meant for me. Me and a kid. Pietro pushed us out of the way and took them instead.”

He reached for her hand, and she gave it. Clenching so tightly that Darcy could feel blood pooling under her skin, forming bruises, Clint murmured, “He saved my life, and you saved his. I've gotta take care of the both of you now.”

Darcy turned to him at that, mouth open and ready to retort. His gaze met hers, and she paused. Clint’s eyes were glassy and wet, but he stared her down with steely-eyed determination. Deciding to pick her battles, Darcy rolled her eyes and joked, “Yeah, alright. There are worse things than having a super spy watch my back.”

Clint bumped her shoulder with his affectionately. They sat in silence for long minutes before Clint observed, “You’ve been taking really good care of him, you know. I could see it when I walked in.”

Involuntarily, Darcy’s eyes wandered back to Pietro’s door. “Yeah, well, Coulson made him my responsibility. I’m just doing my job.”

That earned her a snort from her companion. “Yeah, okay, I call bullshit. I don’t know very many SHIELD agents—or any agents for that matter—who would read the Harry Potter books out loud to their charges, much less for hours on end. And,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “I’m pretty sure soft, colorful throw blankets are not standard issue at this hospital. Nice try, though, Darce.”

Darcy shrugged. “Alright, you got me. I just—you weren’t down there, Clint. In the morgue. And he was so far away from home,” she gestured toward Pietro’s room,” and Wanda. And I just—he was left to die, Clint. But he was alive. So, yeah, I do everything I can to make sure he recovers.”

The archer looked skeptical but slightly chastened. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Darce. I  didn’t think about what that must have been like for you—”

He cut himself off mid-sentence, and they both looked up as Wanda exited her brother’s hospital room.

She was crying. Darcy was on her feet and moving toward Wanda before she realized that Wanda was also _smiling_. A big, happy smile that shone through the tear tracks on her cheeks. “The doctor said that he’s going to be fine, and he should wake up in the next several days,” she exhaled, barely loud enough for Clint and Darcy to hear. She reached for Darcy eagerly, sliding easily into a tight hug. “He’s going to be fine,” she whispered again, voice fraught with emotion. Darcy understood, and gripped the woman tighter.

“Is this a women-only kinda hug, or can I get in on it too?” Clint’s teasing voice broke in from behind Darcy’s shoulder. With matching wet chuckles, Darcy and Wanda shuffled apart slightly. Darcy snagged Clint’s arm and brought him in.

 

* * *

 

The doctor was wrong.

Wanda stayed at her brother’s bedside that night, and Clint stayed with her. Darcy went home to her apartment, and wondered when the lack of people had started to feel so empty.

When Darcy walked into Pietro’s room the next morning, she belatedly wondered whether her presence was necessary any longer. She didn’t need to read to him anymore, not with Wanda there. And clearly she wasn’t needed for security, not with two bonafide Avengers in the room.

Before she could duck out and call Phil for an updated assignment, however, Wanda spotted her. “Darcy!” she called, waving her over. “I want to show you something I found.” Rummaging around in a bag next to her chair, she laughed, “I found this next to Pietro’s bed. Did you leave it there?” With a soft exclamation of satisfaction, she pulled out a book. An embarrassingly-familiar looking book.

“Oh, no,” Darcy groaned. “Can we not talk about that, please? It’s so humiliating.”

Clint’s head whipped around at that. “You, _Miss-I-Don’t-Get-Embarrassed-By-Anything_ , are refusing to talk about something? You, who called and harassed Coulson with made-up sex stories until he gave you your iPod back?”

She flipped him off and turned to Wanda. “Yeah, that was not one of my finer moments. I was just trying to help him recover, you know? And I thought maybe hearing something in his own language might help,” she explained, waving a hand in the general direction of the book. “Except, you know, I can’t speak Sokovian. Like at all.”

“I can vouch for that,” a raspy voice mumbled from the bed. “Your accent is atrocious.” As one, they all turned to stare at the man blearily looking around the room.

Pietro was awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post this on [tumblr](https://bloomsoftly.tumblr.com) first. Come say hi!


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro changes the status quo. (He has a tendency to do that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i wasn't going to update anything this month because of nanowrimo, but then i finally got inspiration for the next chapter of this fic, and the rest is history.
> 
> many thanks to [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi) and [georgiagirlagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiagirlagain/pseuds/georgiagirlagain) for looking this over for me! xoxoxo
> 
> Also, this is your regularly-scheduled reminder to check out [Wino's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wino/pseuds/Wino) companion fic, [Life is Unfair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762626). It's amazing! :D

There was dead silence for a long moment, then the room burst into a cacophony of sound. Wanda threw herself at her brother, sobbing hysterically. She hugged him so hard she was practically smothering him. Clint took a step toward the bed, then thought better of it. He and Darcy looked at each other.

“I, uhh—I'm gonna call Tony and Coulson,” Clint stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Darcy commiserated; she felt uncomfortable too. Like an outsider intruding on a private moment. “Good idea," she said. “I'll get the doctor.” Wanda didn't look up as they left the room. Pietro was buried under her hair and unable to see anything at all.

It was easy to find a doctor. Apparently, the loud cries of a family member could mean several things, but all of them were important. The nurses were already eyeing the general direction of Pietro's room, theorizing amongst themselves, and had no problem directing Darcy to his doctor.

The doctor's face lit up as soon as Darcy told her what happened. "I don't get to see outcomes like this very often," she confided. “Times like these make my whole year.”

The doctor entered Pietro's room immediately, but Darcy loitered in the hallway. She stared at her fingernails for moment, eyeing each speck of dirt critically. For the first time in days, she was at a total loss. There were no forms to fill out, no security to arrange, no coma patient to take care of. Which was amazing. She hadn't let herself think this far ahead, avoiding the crushing disappointment she would've faced if Pietro didn't make it through after all.

But he did. And his sister was here, and Clint was here, and they were going to take him to the Avengers facility, probably, or at least some place where he would have better care. That was the plan, and it was a good plan. The problem was that Darcy didn't know how to go back to her normal routine after all the excitement. Just thinking of the prospect of desk duty at Headquarters was enough to give her hives.

Scrubbing a hand over her face and plopping down in a nearby chair, Darcy shoved that thought away. Right now was a time for celebration. She'd figure out all the rest later.

She wasn't sitting there for very long before Clint came back. He dropped down next to her so exuberantly that the chair creaked under his weight and thudded against the wall. Knocking her shoulder with his, he asked, “Why the long face?”

Forcing a tired grin, Darcy replied, “Just exhausted. And trying to figure out what I'm going to be assigned to next." She halfheartedly joked, "It'll be kind of tough to go back to the usual assignments after this, you know?"

With a genuine smile, Clint teased, "Trust me, I know. You have met me, right?” More seriously, he continued, "But I understand. I might have a solution for that, actually."

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off as the doctor exited the room. "They're asking for you," she told them. Before leaving, she added, “I’m recommending that he stay another 24 hours before you move him, just to be sure he continues healing as he should.” With a significant look at Clint, she challenged, “Will that be a problem?”

Clint grinned and threw a sloppy salute. “No, ma'am, that'll work just fine.”

Wanda looked up with a smile as they entered. She had relocated to the side of the bed, no longer smothering her brother. A nurse stood next to the bed, fiddling with the IV and murmuring to Pietro. Based on the flutter of her eyelashes and his accompanying smirk, her whispers weren’t entirely related to his medical care. Pietro smiled broadly at something she said, prompting the nurse to flush. Darcy couldn't blame her.

Upon seeing his smile, Darcy’s first thought was, _Wow, that should be illegal_ , and her second was, _Damn_. Of course he was a flirt. If she looked like that and had just come out of a life-threatening coma, she would be too. Not that it mattered; she shouldn't be thinking of him in that capacity anyway. It wasn't professional. _Screw professional_ , her ovaries whispered. Darcy steadfastly ignored them.

She glanced away, only to make eye contact with Clint. He smirked at her knowingly. Rolling her eyes at both him and herself, she turned to Wanda and let her know, “The doctor said that he'll be good to leave in 24 hours, barring any emergencies?”

At the sound of her voice, Pietro turned away from the nurse to focus on Darcy. She kept her eyes on his sister.

“Yes, that's what she told us.” Wanda picked at a thread on the blanket Darcy had brought and asked in a small voice, “Where will we go now?”

With a mildly chastising glare in Clint’s direction, Darcy reassured, “You're Avengers, Wanda. They take care of their own. Or a least, that's the rumor.”

Clint rubbed the nape of his neck, abashed. “Aww, damn it, no. Sorry, Wanda, I assumed you knew—there's a place for you at the facility.” Looking Pietro in the eyes, he clarified, “For both of you.”

With tears in her eyes, Wanda got up from the bed, wrapping her arms around Clint in a tight embrace. “Thank you,” she murmured in to his shoulder.

Pietro cleared his throat hoarsely and coughed, tilting his head to slide his hair out of his face. “But what about my favorite nurse?” he teased.

The woman had left. Darcy chuckled and tilted her head toward the door she'd gone through. “I think she stays with the hospital, dude.”

Staring at her in confusion, Pietro followed her line of sight to the door. “Oh! No, not her, though I'm sure she's very good at her job. I was talking about you, mila.” Ruffling a shaky hand through his hair—seriously, how did it stay that perfect after all he'd been through? It must be a superhero thing—he asked, “You are coming with us, yes?”

Wanda’s head shot up and she released Clint. Taking a step back and wrapping a hand around her middle, she looked between Darcy and Clint. “You are, aren't you?” Addressing Clint, she implored, “We aren't just going to leave her here, are we? She saved Pietro's life.”

Darcy huffed. “It's not that simple, Wanda. I have a job here, with SHIELD. Which, by the way, has super shitty history with the Avengers. Like, really bad. If I was an Avenger I wouldn't trust the agency, either.” She shrugged casually and added, “But all that means I've got to stay in DC while you three head to the top-secret Avengers facility.”

She looked to Clint for backup, but the little shit just grinned at her. “It's in upstate New York, actually.”

Darcy opened her mouth to rail at him for spilling top-secret information so casually—just because they were friends was no excuse—when he continued, “And I just talked to Tony. You’re good to come with us, kid, if you want. SHIELD connections or no, Stark knows a good investment when he sees one.”

Wanda clapped her hands, excited, but Darcy interjected, “One, I am not an object to be invested in, _Clinton_. Two, I already have a boss, remember? You know, your friend, the super-efficient agent who makes a suit look easy _and_ terrifying?”

Clint only smirked. “Call Coulson, then. See what he says.”

Feeling a little hunted, Darcy rejoined, “Fine, I will. Please excuse me.”

On her way out the door, she heard Pietro ask, “Did we say something wrong?”

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, Coulson, I must have misheard you. _What_ did you just say?”

Coulson’s sigh echoed through the phone. She could almost picture his look of exasperation, with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought off a Darcy-induced headache. But she couldn’t help it, the last thing she’d expected him to say was—

“I said, I’m reassigning you to the Avengers Initiative. Permanently.”

 _That_.

That was the last thing she expected him to say.

 

* * *

When she came back, Clint was waiting for her outside. Eyeing her with trepidation, he asked, “You okay, Darce? I mean—you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment, he looked away and added, “I’m sorry if I bullied you into this. It’s just—you were doing so well with the twins, and I thought you deserved better than a life as a top secret pencil-pusher. But if you don’t want to put up with us—”

“Clint!” she interjected, laughing ruefully and rolling her eyes at his word vomit. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ve made a life here, even if it’s a little boring. Just trying to wrap my head around the prospect of moving. And working with the _Avengers_. Kind of a big deal, you know.”

Chuckling, he knocked a shoulder playfully against hers and said, “Aww, Darce, come on. You already know two of us, and we’re big dumb idiots.”

Laughing, Darcy replied, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m totally gonna tell Nat that you called her big _and_ an idiot, though.” She tried to dodge his shove, but his reflexes were too good.

Clint grinned at her, then sobered. “You saved his life, Darcy—the life of an Avenger. Even if Nat and I didn’t already know you, even if Wanda and Pietro weren’t obsessed with having you around—” Darcy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue the point, “—we wouldn’t take that for granted.” His inner jokester came out—Clint was incapable of being serious for too long—and he added, “Plus, this’ll be a helluva lot more fun, kid.”

Darcy went to shove him, but the door to Pietro’s hospital room suddenly cracked open, and she paused mid-swing. Wanda’s head peeked around the door tentatively. Eyeing them carefully, she whispered, “Is everything alright out here?”

Immediately Darcy dropped her hand, feeling a lot like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and responded, “Yeah, of course. Everything’s fine, Wanda.”

Wanda waited until Clint nodded his agreement, then grinned in relief. Opening the door wider, she stepped all the way outside. “Good, I am glad.” To Darcy, she added, “Pietro wants to speak to you. He was unsure if you would decide to stay and—well, he asked to speak with you. If you are willing.”

Darcy cocked her head in confusion. “Of course I’m willing.” As she walked through the door, the last she saw of Clint and Wanda was their heads coming together, whispering conspiratorially. _Uh oh_ , she thought. _That looks like trouble_.

Shaking it off, Darcy closed the door with a firm click and turned, only to stop in confusion. The nurse was back. She and Pietro were talking quietly again, heads bent together as she leaned down to hear what he was saying.

Darcy shifted her weight awkwardly in embarrassment. Her shoe scuffed on the floor with a little squeak, and they turned their heads in her direction.

Grimacing, Darcy apologized,“Sorry.” Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, she explained, “Wanda said you wanted to talk to me, but I can just...come back later?” She took a step backward as she spoke, not waiting for an answer. It was uncomfortable enough already.

Pietro sat upright with a start, a pleading hand outstretched in her direction. “No, Darcy, please,” he called, grunting slightly in pain. Darcy stopped in her tracks at the sound, eyeing him in dismay. The nurse started fussing over him, chastising him for the sudden movement, but he brushed her off.

Eyes on Darcy, he repeated, “Mila, please. I did ask for you. Please stay?” His eyes grew round and sincere with his pleading, and Darcy vowed to never let him know how affected she was by that look. She was sure that he would have no trouble at all using it against her.

“Alright,” she acquiesced. With a quick glance at the nurse, who was still glaring at him in concern, she bargained, “but only if you stop moving around like that. You’re gonna give us all a heart attack if you keep it up.”

He relaxed, sinking back against his pillows. With a tired wink, he teased, “For you, Darcy, anything. I can’t have you dying on me.”

With a chuckle, the nurse looked between the two of them and said to Darcy, “Finally, it looks like someone has him well in hand. He wouldn’t even listen to the other two.” As she clipped his medical chart back in place, she added to Pietro, “Buzz if you need something, okay? I’m glad to see you’re making such a swift recovery.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything else. They were silent until she’d left the room, the door shutting with an audible click behind her.

Clearing his throat, Pietro fidgeted slightly and broke the silence. “Would you sit down, Darcy? You look uncomfortable standing there.” He picked at the colorful blanket (it was his favorite, she’d noticed—not that there was much competition in the drab hospital room) until she sat down in the chair at his bedside.

“I—I wanted to say thank you. Two meager words, and they are so cheap for expressing the way I feel—” Darcy half-rose from the chair, wanting to cut him off and say that he didn’t need to thank her, but he waved a hand insistently and continued forcefully, “No! I know what you’re going to say, but please. I need to do this. Will you listen?”

Of course she would. Darcy sat back fully in her chair and nodded. “It’s not just the fact that you found me in the morgue, though there’s that as well.” Peering up at her through his lashes, he confided, “My sestra told me that you dug the bullets out—even before you knew I was alive. And you saved me, and saved Wanda too, for we are lost without each other.”

Shaking his head impatiently, he continued, “But it’s more than that. You brought me back to the world of the living. I was lost in—in _nowhere_ —in limbo, I guess you would say. And then, you spoke to me. About cats and dogs, of all things.”

Darcy blushed a brilliant red at the reminder and looked away. She’d hoped he wouldn’t remember most of the things she’d said to him while he was in the coma, but clearly that was too much to ask for. A light tap of his finger against hers brought her eyes back to his, and he continued, “But it worked. You grounded me, kept me here. With your stories, with the reading. You brought me home. And I knew I needed to wake up, if only to tell you that.”

With a rakish grin, he added, “And then, later, I knew I had to wake up unless I wanted you to spout terrible poetry at me for the rest of our lives.” A light stroke of his calloused fingertips against her hand took the sting out of his words. “So, I hope—I hope that you will come to New York. It is selfish of me, I know, because I just want to keep you close, but—”

She caught his fluttering hand in hers, stopping him. “I am, Pietro. I’m coming to New York. I just have to pack tonight, but I’ll be on the plane with you tomorrow.”

His whole face softened, lighting up with a blinding smile. “Good. Good, I’m glad. Although, this definitely means that I’ll have to teach you Sokovian, mačkice. As much as I love your voice when you read to me, you butchered the poetry terribly.”

Darcy rolled her eyes good-naturedly and ignored the flirting. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I had anyone around to teach me the language, you know.”

Puffing out his chest a little, eyes twinkling, Pietro smirked, “Well, now you do.”

She was saved from having to reply by the entrance of Clint and Wanda. Not long after that, Darcy excused herself. She had an entire apartment to pack before they left, and she didn’t want to put it off any longer. Plus, she needed some space. Too many more of those winks from Pietro’s intensely blue eyes and her heart rate would never go down. Clint watched her go with a knowing grin. She ignored that, too.

 

* * *

 

 _It is selfish of me, I know, because I just want to keep you close—_ what had he meant by that?

 _It was just friendly, Darcy_ , she scolded herself sternly. _He feels like he owes you for saving his life. That’s it._

 

* * *

 

“Don’t be overdramatic, Janie. I told you I was alive.”

“And you also managed to make it sound like you were doing top-secret, dangerous work for SHIELD in Washington, D.C., Darce. And excuse me if I’m a little leery of what happens in D.C. when SHIELD is involved.” Her voice was as dry as the New Mexico desert, and Darcy winced.

“Alright, fair enough. I’m sorry, Jane. Things have been a little crazy, and—” Darcy gestured wildly around her apartment, forgetting that Jane couldn’t see it. Picking up the packing tape, she continued with her task.

“What was that noise?”

Oh, whoops. She’d forgotten to tell Jane that she was moving. “Umm, it was packing tape?”

“…packing tape?!”

This was going to be fun.

 

* * *

 

Darcy rubbed her eyes blearily as she stepped out of the cab. She was completely exhausted from packing and the singularly not-fun experience of dealing with Jane in a temper. So much so that she almost forgot to be impressed by the opulence and ridiculousness that was Tony Stark’s private jet. _Almost_.

 _Either that man has the most generous spirit on the face of the planet_ , she mused, _or he’s compensating for something_. Either way, it looked like they’d be riding in style.

The Maximoffs and Clint were already there. The archer was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, and he chuckled when she got within earshot. “Well, well, look at what the cat dragged in. I thought I was going to have to go collect you from your apartment.” Taking a closer look, he asked, “You okay, kid? You look like you spent the night getting drunk off your ass.”

“I wish. Jane called,” she explained. “I had to tell her I was moving.”

Clint winced in sympathy. He had been on the receiving end of Dr. Foster’s loud voice on more than one occasion, unfortunately.

“Oof. No wonder you look like hell,” he commiserated, slinging an arm around her shoulders and guiding her to the stairs.

“Thanks so much, Clint,” she deadpanned. “Tell me how you really feel.”

Panic swept across his face and he visibly searched for a way to backtrack. Darcy laughed loudly; he was such an easy target sometimes. Seeing that she was teasing, he dropped his arm from her shoulder and charged ahead. “Just for that, I’m going to make you sit next to lover boy,” he sing-songed.

“Damn it, Clint,” she hissed, but it was too late. He had already disappeared into the jet.

Sure enough, when she got inside Clint was already sitting next to Wanda. He mocked her with a shit-eating grin, but she ignored him. She thought about walking past to sit in a row by herself, but Pietro was watching her expectantly with a little grin on his face.

Deciding not to hurt his feelings just because Clint was being a dick, she plopped down next to him. Pietro looked exhausted, but whether that was because the trip from the hospital wore him out or just in general, she didn’t know.

“Are you alright?” they asked each other at the same time. Sharing a rueful chuckle, they met each other's eyes and quickly glanced away. Before the silence could get too heavy and awkward, Pietro cleared his throat and picked up the book that had been lying in his lap. It was Harry Potter.

“I made Wanda go buy it for me. I was wondering—would you read to me for a little while, mila? I’ve gotten so used to the sound of your voice.”

Her throat was clogged, closed around some unnamed emotion, but Darcy nodded and reached for the book.

Thumbing through the pages to find where she’d left off, she began to read. Pietro’s head drooped further and further until, several chapters later, he fell asleep on her shoulder. Darcy froze, too afraid to move and accidentally wake him up.

But she’d had a rough night and was exhausted, too. Eventually, the book dropped from her limp fingers and she fell asleep, head lightly resting against his.

Neither of them saw the scheming looks on Clint and Wanda’s faces as they stared at the pair. Darcy slept peacefully, blissfully unaware as Wanda took a picture with her phone. Pietro didn’t open his eyes, either, but a happy smile spread across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come say hi!](bloomsoftly.tumblr.com)


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the dorks finally come together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been so much fun, so thank you for reading! i have such a special soft spot for these two dorks and for this story in particular, and i hope i did the end of it justice.
> 
> as always, a million kisses and hugs to Wino, whose brain birthed the idea for this 'verse. and to queenie, for gently encouraging and coaxing me along so that i'd finally get it written. love you both.

“Oh my Thor,” Darcy groaned, letting her head fall forward to slam against her desk. “Why is it that superheroes are allergic to paperwork?”

A slight displacement of air had her raising her head; she’d heard it often enough in the last several months to recognize the sound of her favorite speedster zooming to and fro. Sure enough, he was standing in front of her desk, looking down at her in concern. At least she thought that’s what it was; a bright yellow sticky note had attached itself to the right side of her face, marring her vision.

Before she could reach up to pry it off her skin, a gentle hand did it for her. His calloused fingertips brushed lightly against her temples, and Darcy’s eyes closed of their own accord. Immediately, she forced them open— _way to be totally chill about your crush, Darce_ —but Pietro wasn’t looking at her. The uneasy twinge in her stomach was not disappointment, she told herself.

“Find a way to get the Avengers to do their god damned mission reports,” he read aloud, waving the sticky note in the air in front of her face. “That’s a lot of exclamation marks, mila. Is everything alright?”

She could practically feel her blood pressure rising again at the reminder. “No, not really. A crucial part of my job is collating the mission reports from every member of the Avengers. And everyone blows me off, even though they’re really important. The reports were the only reason we were able to quash those rumors that Wanda was responsible for leveling an entire school in Mexico City, if you’ll recall.”

“I remember, Darce. You did such a good job in salvaging that disaster.” His eyes were warm and grateful as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. And wait, when had he gotten so close? Damn Sokovians and their lack of personal bubbles. Though Wanda didn’t seem to have that problem. Nope, now was not the time to be following that line of thought.

“Thank you.” She smiled and waited for his hand to drop from her hair. It didn’t, and they stood there long enough for anticipation to coil in her belly, unbearably tense and heavy. It was all she could do not to drop her eyes to his lips, and she struggled against the urge to raise herself onto her tiptoes and press her mouth to his. But he didn’t seem to be having the same problem; his gaze was steady and sure on hers. And she’d be damned if that didn’t act like a bucket of water, immediately dousing the fire kindling in her belly.

With an icy tightness in her chest, she shifted backward. She needed space, to let herself breathe again. His hand finally dropped, but instead of satisfaction at the distance, she just felt bereft. He eyed her curiously, but didn’t move other than to draw his hand back to his side. The moment was on the verge of becoming unbearably awkward, and she couldn’t stand the thought of him having to let her down gently. So, she continued her rant. “It’s just—I’m not sure what Coulson was thinking. I don’t think I’m the best fit for this job, if I can’t even get the team to turn in their paperwork.”

She raked a hand over her face in frustration, trying to will away the headache that was blooming at the back of her eyeballs—no, those weren’t tears, it was just dusty in her office, that was all—when suddenly he was crowding into her space again. With gentle hands, he coaxed her hands away from her face. When she still wouldn’t look at him, he used his index finger to tip her chin up.

His worried frown deepened when he saw the moisture in her eyes. “Darcy, I had no idea things were this bad,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “What can I do? Please tell me what I can do.”

“Nothing,” she sniffled. “I’m just having a bad day, that’s all.”

Pietro scoffed, the sound reverberating through her body from where her head was pressed to the crook between his chest and his shoulder. She tried very hard to ignore his well-defined muscles, which flexed every time he stroked tender fingers through her hair. She completely failed, but at least she tried. “That can’t be true. If it’s upset you so much, it can’t be nothing. Please tell me what I can do.”

Sniffling and lightly butting her head against his chest one last time—and desperately hoping there wasn’t snot leaking out of her nose or something equally disgusting—she pulled away and swiped at her eyes. “Unless you can suddenly convince the rest of your team to turn in their paperwork on time—and completed—like civilized human beings, I don’t think so,” she muttered.

There was nothing to say to that, but he took her hands between his and squeezed. It was a brief touch, just long enough to feel the pressure, but her hands were burned with the heat of his and tingled even after he’d let her go. She ignored the sensation, shaking her head slightly as if to erase the memory of his skin. It wasn’t enough, and she took a step back to clear her head.

Pietro opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You have more important things to worry about.” His expression darkened and he shook his head, but she ignored it. “Were you just stopping by to rustle my papers, or did you need something?” Her grin was half-hearted at best, but he let it slide.

“I was going to see if you’d like to take a break for lunch, because I know how hard you’ve been working lately.” Jerking his chin at her massive pile of papers, he added, “But I didn’t realize you’d be this busy.”

With a regretful shake of her head—lunches with Pietro were some of her favorite parts of the week, and not because of the food—Darcy pouted and confirmed, “Oh, Piet. I wish I could, but—”

He waved away her apology. “No, mila, do not worry. I can see how much work you have. Another time, yeah?” At her quick nod, he grinned. “Perfect. Try not to work too hard. And I’ll see what I can do about my lazy teammates.” And then he was gone, her hair fluttering in his wake. For a second she thought she felt a slight pressure against the side of her head, but shook it off. She must’ve been imagining it.

Staring down at the mound of work that awaited for her, she groaned. Time to roll up her metaphorical sleeves and get to work. Despite her complaining to Pietro, she wasn’t actually someone who gave up in the face of hard work. And with that determination in mind—a little more boring when it was paperwork at stake, rather than evacuating a small desert town or preventing a world-ending, cataclysmic event, it was true—she turned on some music and picked up a piece of paper. It was going to be a long day.

A couple of hours later, another gust of wind had her looking up from her significantly-reduced stack of papers. But Pietro wasn’t there this time. Instead, there was a sandwich and chips at one end of her desk. A bright orange sticky note was stuck to the top. _Don’t forget to fuel that beautiful brain of yours_ , it read in his hasty scrawl.

She stared at it for a moment too long, wondering how much shit she’d catch from Clint if she kept the sticky note as a keepsake. Deciding she didn’t care, Darcy smoothed the little piece of paper between her fingers and slid it into the drawer of her desk. No one even had to know it was there. Before she could get immersed in her work again, she shot a quick text to Pietro.

_Thank you_.

It buzzed with a reply within seconds. She stifled a snort at the thought that he was using his super speed for something as mundane as a text message. The giant dork.

_Anything for you, mila_.

And yeah, he was a dork, but he was a dork with charm. Somewhat grumpily, she shook her head and tucked her phone away. Out of sight, where she wouldn’t cave and find more reasons to text him. She was gone enough over him as it was, honestly. It didn’t help that he knew exactly what to say in order to make her melt, either. Actually, she hoped he didn’t know, because that would mean he knew about her crush. And that would be incredibly awkward. Wanting to escape her own thoughts, Darcy shut off her brain and dove into her paperwork with a level of enthusiasm that was entirely unnecessary.

The rest of the day passed in a boring blur of signatures and filing and online forms, which to be honest was perfectly fine with Darcy. The more excitement there was for the Avengers, the more work it generally meant for her. Not to mention that she spent hours and sometimes worried for the safety of her friends. So, no. She’d take the boring days anytime.

Still, she was dragging her feet the next morning when she headed for her office. She had a giant coffee in one hand, already in desperate need of caffeine. Her eyes were still a little fuzzy with sleep, which is why she blinked rapidly a couple of times when she reached her door. Because there was Captain America—Steve—waiting outside with a sheepish look on his face. “Hi, Darcy.”

“Hello,” she replied, drawing out the vowels. “Is there something I can do for you, Captain Rogers?”

“Just Steve, please,” he corrected, reaching up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. The other hand clutched a small set of papers. Her heart skipped a bit. Surely this didn’t mean— “And I’m really sorry I didn’t get these to you on time. I hope you know it doesn’t reflect on my respect for you at all. I’m just not always the best at remembering to do my paperwork.” His cheeks were stained a charming red, and that was the only reason she didn’t call him out on his little fib. That, and she wanted to encourage good behavior.

“That’s alright, Steve. I appreciate you bringing them to me.” She took them from him, then hesitantly added, “If you want, I can send you the electronic versions next time? I just wasn’t sure—” she trailed off, not knowing how to say it gracefully.

“How caught up on modern technology I am?” He chuckled, and it was her turn to blush. “I’m sure I can figure it out, or someone can help me. Thanks, Darcy.” Steve turned to go, then stopped. Half-pivoting back to face her, he said, “You know, you and Pietro make a good team.”

She sputtered, not knowing what to say to that, and he winked at her. Then he was walking away, whistling a cheeky little tune. With the sense that she’d just been trolled by Captain America, Darcy stood frozen in the hallway for a second. Finally, she shrugged and continued into the office, Steve’s mission report gripped tightly in her hand. There was no way she was going to lose the damn thing after all this effort.

One Avenger down, she thought as she collapsed into her chair. Well, two, really. Surprisingly, Pietro was the most responsible person on the team when it came to turning in his reports, almost religiously so. And come to think of it, he usually brought Wanda’s with him. Generally speaking, the Sokovian twins did everything they could to make her job as easy as possible, both in the field and at base.

On a hunch, she went digging through her stack of paperwork. And sure enough, there they were: two mission reports from the Maximoffs. Which brought her total to three. And all of a sudden she was a lot better off than she’d been the day before, after a single conversation with a certain speedster. With a slightly-happier slurp of her coffee, Darcy booted up her computer.

Since the team wasn’t deployed in the field today, Darcy was stuck with administrative work. Not that she wanted her friends to throw themselves into danger, but mission support was a lot more interesting than cleaning up the bureaucratic messes afterward. She let her mind drift as she waited for all the emails to come pouring in, trying not to think about the implication behind Steve’s words or the way her stomach twisted with anticipation for the next time she got to see Pietro. When she began to think of hypothetical ways to convince him to visit more often, she knew she needed a distraction.

The universe was clearly listening, because the first email in her overflowing inbox had her jaw dropping. She hastily set her coffee aside, attention fully captured by the name of the sender: Tony Stark. Resisting the urge to pinch herself—Tony didn’t send emails, just like he refused to accept anything that was handed to him; he made other people do it for him—Darcy clicked on the email. Maybe it was spam, some kind of humorous scammer.

But no. It was an email from Iron Man himself. Abrupt and vague and completely annoying, which meant it was definitely written by Tony.

_Here, short stack. I’ve turned in my report. Can you tell your little boy toy to lay off the pranks and the threats now? I’ve officially done what he wanted._

She read it twice, and still didn’t know what he was talking about. But, sure enough, when she double-clicked on the attachment, there was his report. All filled out and everything (correctly, even!). She’d never known such a thing was possible, not when it came to the man in question. As she stared at his signature, she wondered whether this made her particularly good at her job or completely terrible.

Without even bothering to respond to Tony, she pulled out her phone to text Pietro. _What on earth did you do to Tony? He just turned in his report!_

There was no immediate text in reply this time; instead, Pietro came to visit in person. The only warning she received was the rustling of her papers, and then Pietro was leaning over her shoulder, examining the email from Tony. “I knew that would work!” he crowed, as if he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart or see the flush in her cheeks. The smell of his cologne filled her nostrils, and all she wanted to do was drag him to bed and curl up around him for days, until his scent permeated everything she owned. Well, among the other things she wanted to do to him—with him—in bed.

Clearing her throat, she asked hoarsely, “What did you do to convince him? What pranks and threats is he talking about? Should I prepare myself for revenge?” She could feel him shift his head to look at her, but didn’t dare turn her head.

“Trade secrets, mila.” Was it just her, or was his voice a little husky, too? “All you need to know is that Tony will be turning in his reports on time from now on.” With one hand draped across the back of her chair and the other braced against the desk, his body bracketed hers, creating a cocoon with his body heat. He was warm and tempting, and chills broke out along her neck as his breath ghosted against it with every word he spoke. She was in deep trouble. Such deep trouble.

“You are making my life so much easier, Piet.” Unable to resist the temptation, she leaned into the crook of his elbow a little as she spoke, tilting her head back to make eye contact.

His eyes were warm and earnest. “It’s nothing, Darcy. I’d do anything to keep you happy here.”

“Anything?” she teased, already thinking of a number of mundane things she knew he wouldn’t want to give up. His crappy Sokovian coffee, for one. His speed, of course. The fancy new Avengers uniforms they’d recently acquired…

But his gaze never changed, never shifted from hers. “Anything.”

There was something in his eyes, deep and still and steady. It was strange to see that in someone who was constantly moving. She was frozen, caught in his gaze, and she got the sense that he was waiting for her. To do what, she wasn’t sure. And whatever it was, he wasn’t saying; she wanted to be annoyed, but instead she was caught in his orbit, hanging there helplessly.

After a silent minute or two, the air shifted. It grew heavy with tension—the kind that sent a rush of desire coursing through her body, shifting in her lungs until her breathing was soft and shallow. They were on the verge of something, some kind of change that had her skin prickling with anticipation.

She stared up at him and licked her her suddenly dry lips, swaying back into the heat of his body. His eyes never dropped from hers, but his hand fell from the back of the chair to curve around her shoulder. The heat of his hand soaked through the light silk of her blouse, and fire crept along in the wake of his thumb as it stroked a semi-circle along the bone of her shoulder. She memorized the curve of its arc—she’d been branded, for all that no one would ever see the mark.

A look of mild irritation swept across his face, only to be immediately replaced by an expression of nervous determination. Pietro opened his mouth to say something, and the atmosphere shimmered with the weight of it, ready to break with his words—only to shatter as the clanging of an alarm sounded throughout the facility. The Avengers were being called to assemble.

Sheer frustration overtook Pietro’s face, tugging the corners of his lips down into a dark frown. “Jebati!” he spit furiously, looking away. But by the time he’d turned back to her, the frustration was gone from his face. She could still feel it, though, simmering beneath the surface. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I have to go.” His words were gentle, and so were the fingers he brushed across her cheek.

Before he could zip away, she reached up and caught his fingers with hers. “Be safe,” she ordered, letting the two words hang with the weight of all the other things she wouldn’t let herself say.

His fingers squeezed hers, just once, before he pulled away. “I always am. I’ll come back to you in one piece, don’t worry.”

Long after he’d gone, she stood braced against her desk, struggling to breathe. _I’ll come back to you_ , he’d said. And it hadn’t been a come on, either; his face was was perfectly sincere, his gaze open. Despite what she’d thought in the hospital, Darcy had never—not once in the six months they’d been in the Avengers facility—seen him flirt with anyone. No one except her.

She sagged into her chair, feeling like an idiot. In her obsessive dedication to protecting herself from getting hurt, she’d overlooked the obvious. All those times Pietro came over for lunch, or made her job easier, or stroked her hair or touched her hand, he hadn’t been doing it out of gratitude, or from a sense of obligation because she’d saved his life. She’d been so _blind_. He cared about her as much as she did him, she’d stake her life on it.

_I’ll come back to you_ , he’d said. And that look in his eyes, the way his fingers had lingered against her cheek, his palm on her shoulder. The way he’d blackmailed his teammates just to make her job easier. It all made sense. Clint was going to make so much fun of her for this, she knew. Whether it would be because she’d actually fallen for him or because it had taken her six months to figure out that Pietro felt the same, she didn’t know. She wasn’t looking forward to his gloating, though.

She was still standing there, cataloging every interaction she’d ever had with Pietro and trying to figure out everything she’d missed, when Maria knocked on her office door. “Darcy, I need you up in ops—are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” A little dazed maybe, but she was okay. Shaking her head to clear her fuzzy brain, she mustered a smiled and added, “Sorry. On my way now.”

With one last skeptical look, Maria said, “Alright. As long as you’re sure. The team is en route now, so you’ve got a minute or two. But no longer than that.”

“I’m fine, honest.”

And she was. Luckily, the team was, too. The mission—an extraction of hostages being held in a small country whose government didn’t have the infrastructure to manage it themselves, at least not safely—went off without a hitch. In no time at all, it seemed, they were on their way back to base.

Suddenly, Darcy had to figure out what to do with her revelation. Did she bury it, or wait for a better time, whenever that might be? Why had Pietro waited so long to say something? Had he changed his mind?

The questions—some logical, some less so—whirled through her brain so quickly she was giving herself whiplash. She lost track of time, running a finger around the brim of her coffee cup over and over. Until, suddenly, a small, gentle hand covered hers. She looked up with a gasp.

It was Wanda. Which meant that the team was back. The prospect of seeing Pietro sent a strange mixture of excitement and unadulterated terror coursing through her. His sister stared at her quizzically, like she was trying to put the last pieces of a puzzle together. “Ah, so you’re finally ready,” she finally said, as mysterious as always. Her stare changed, morphing into pure curiosity. “What changed, I wonder?”

“What?” Darcy asked stupidly. She felt like they were putting on a play, except only Wanda knew the lines.

And then the elevator dinged, and she knew she wasn’t ready to face Pietro, not in a group of people who would hear their every word. A group of people who’d clearly known about his feelings longer than she had. All of a sudden, Steve’s teasing, Tony’s jokes, and Clint’s eye rolls all made so much more sense.

“I can’t—not here,” Darcy sputtered, backing away.

Wanda’s smile shifted again. Now it was gentle and understanding. She sometimes had a hard time with larger groups of people, too. “Go,” she said to Darcy. “I will tell him.”

What Wanda was going to tell him wasn’t clear, but Darcy was out of time to ask questions. With a jerky nod, she fled.

There was a knock on her door less than an hour later. It was Pietro; not that she’d expected anyone else. He’d taken the time to change before he’d come over, clearly, because he wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore. But his hair was still wet and dripping onto his henley, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him rushing straight to her apartment once he’d gotten clean.

He looked down at her with a piercing gaze. She felt like he’d split her open and was staring straight into her soul, until he finally quirked his lips and asked, “Can I come in?”

She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead and moved out of the way, mumbling, “Oh my god, of course you can.”

They stood in her living room awkwardly for a second before she blurted, “Can I get you anything? Water? Wine? I think I might have some of Nat’s vodka stashed away if you—”

“Darcy,” he said, cutting her off gently and taking her hands in his. “I’m fine. Can we sit down, maybe?”

Nerves had robbed her of words, so she simply nodded. Together they walked to the couch and sat facing each other; his hands never let go of hers, and their fingers rested, entwined, on the cushion between them.

Clearing his throat, Pietro began, “Wanda said that—well, that you might—be ready. To talk about…everything.” His voice trailed off at the end, and there was a faint blush staining the tips of his ears. It was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

And then his words caught up to her, and she finally understood what Wanda had meant. “Yes,” she answered, wanting to say more but her throat clogged around the words.

With that single word, Pietro settled. The blush faded, and his self-confidence came back. He sat taller, and his eyes were clear and steady on hers. “I’m in love with you,” he said clearly, simply, like they were the only words in the world that could possibly matter. And maybe it was true, because those five words sent her heart into overdrive. It was pounding so loudly that she could hardly hear herself breathe.

But if he could find the bravery to make his confession, then so could she. “I love you, too. I have for months.” And once the words started, they wouldn’t stop. “I’m so sorry…all this time—”

Pietro was suddenly in her space, cupping her face lightly in his callused palms. He held her reverently, and it made the guilt writhing in her gut even stronger. “No,” he whispered, leaning in until he was close enough that his breath ghosted across her lips. “No, no, no. Don’t apologize, mila. You weren’t ready.”

She nodded, savoring the feel of his fingers on her skin and the way his heat radiated across the inch of space that separated their bodies. It wasn’t enough. She wanted him closer. “I wasn’t ready,” she agreed, reaching up to cup a hand at the nape of his neck. “But I am now.”

She exerted just enough pressure to keep him close as she closed the distance between them. Her mouth brushed against his lightly, worshipfully. He exhaled against her, shaky and frozen like he was afraid to make the wrong move.

Her hand shifted, reaching up to sift through his hair and tug. Not much, but enough to make him gasp. And then his lips were moving along hers desperately, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers. They lost themselves in it, exploring each other with eager hands and mouths, until Darcy felt like she was going to explode.

And then she was in his lap, rocking against him and making them both moan. It was too much, too overwhelming, and she leaned back. Just a little, but enough to slow them down. Pietro got the message immediately. He turned his head to press gentle, close-mouthed kisses along her jaw, waiting for their breathing to even out. “Wow,” he finally said, undisguised wonder dripping from the word as he muttered it against her skin.

“Yeah,” she agreed breathily. “Wow is right.”

“A little too fast?”

“A little,” she confirmed, shifting to press a kiss against his temple. He hummed at the contact, blissful and content.

“That’s alright,” he said, sure and easy. His hands traced little designs up and down her back. Motions meant to comfort, not arouse. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

It was her turn to hum. “Yeah,” she agreed happily. “Yeah, we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round. <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi!](https://bloomsoftly.tumblr.com)


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